Imagine Me, Imagine You
by poisonrain
Summary: The world's too big to know everything about everyone, & it's too small to hide in your own corner of it, avoiding people you'd rather not see again. Different circumstances throw a group of unlikely people together.No pairings for now, may change later o
1. fire

(A/N: This just came off of a funny little idea I had. I defintely know where I want to go with this. The overall plot is inspried by a movie, which I won't tell you the name of, due to giving the whole plot away. But you'll figure it out later. This is set after the death of Dumbledore. Yes, Snape was allowed back at school. Yes, Harry and the gang are back at school, along with Malfoy. You'll find that out later too. Enjoy! Oh, and Harry Potter does not belong to me.)

* * *

xx

Severus Snape nearly fell out of his chair, he was so speechless.

Now, there had not been many times in life where something had startled him that much, especially where he was unable to speak due to shock, but as his days went on, that seemed to be happening more and more often.

So, here he was, in the Hogwarts staff room, with his jaw hanging open like some idiot as he watched a thoroughly ruffled McGonagall try to deal with the unusual situation at hand.

Catching sight of himself in one of the dusty windows nearby, he quickly snapped his mouth closed and regained composure, not without some irritation.

Letting a small 'hmph' of disdain escape his lips, he turned his head back to his work, trying to appear unconcerned, though his natural Slytherin curiosity was hanging on to every word being exchanged.

As McGonagall continued to sit and stare at the student, Snape realized that no one should really be surprised. In theory, this was the exact kind of thing a person of her… nature… would be expected to do.

Then again, as every expert potioneer knows, knowing things in theory and seeing them in practice are two completely different things.

* * *

Snape's day had started out fairly normally, by Hogwarts standards. Only an infestation of rats and a quite Thestral stampede before breakfast. 

He had then proceeded directly to the staff room, where he had sat filling out various forms of little consequence up until now. Again, he glanced at the Defense teacher who had accompanied the student, with great dislike.

Not that Snape disliked the teacher. In fact, he was one of Snape's former students, now _Professor_ Montague. Snape inwardly smirked to see the once seventh-year student with his head in a toilet standing in front of him, grown up, and face turning a furious colour of red.

No, it was more the resentment that he himself would probably never be able to teach. He knew it was self-indulgent to be thinking that way. Heck, he should be on his knees thanking Merlin that he was still _alive._ Not that he doubted Dumbledore when the man told him he had 'everything settled'… But it seemed that he, Severus Snape, was finding 'freedom' to be just a different kind of jail.

Running a hand quickly through jet black hair, he turned his attentions back to eavesdropping on the argument. There were only four teachers in the staff room, McGonagall, Montague, Sprout, and himself. He saw Pomona give him an odd look when he leaned slightly to the left, trying to pick up the softer muttering that came from McGonagall One hardly needed to eavesdrop to hear Montague, he was bellowing like a hippogriff who had just gotten his tail pulled, but he wasn't too worried. He knew she was listening to the conversation as well and probably expected him to fill her in on the details during lunch.

Snape found the older woman's presence oddly soothing. Perhaps it was spending a lifetime around the earth and plants, but she had a way of making you feel like you were a good person, and anyone who thought otherwise didn't matter. Not that she had said that to him, of course. But the fact that she was willing to be alone in the same place as him for more than an hour without reaching for her wand every time he breathed spoke volumes in itself.

So he brooded, half-listening, half-contemplating, for a while, but gave a start when he heard his name mentioned in McGonagall's crisp, clipped, voice.

"I'm sorry Ms. Granger," she said shortly, "but as noble as your intentions are, I'm afraid you'll have to serve detention until we get this matter sorted out. I'll warn you that every day you keep this up, one detention will be assigned. And it will most likely take a long time, since we've _never_ had a situation like this…

Can't I persuade you to drop the matter?" She asked again in a pleading voice.

The Gryffindor girl shook her head stubbornly, and pursed her lips. Montague stomped out of the Staff room in a huff, steam practically spilling from his ears.

McGonagall rubbed her forehead tiredly.

"Fine. I'll speak to the board of directors about this. Until then, every day you decide to wear pants instead of the girl's required uniform; you will serve a detention with Professor Snape. Second floor, third classroom on the right, two hours after dinner. You are dismissed."

Snape actually did fall out of his chair that time.

* * *

Hermione, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout looked over their tables interestedly in Snape's direction where a loud 'Crash' had come from. 

Snape, who was sprawled behind his desk, quickly grabbed the chair and snapped off one of the legs. He pulled himself upright quickly, salvaged what was left of his dignity by displaying the "broken" chair to the teachers and Hermione.

"Bloody chair," Snape muttered loudly. "Breaks about ever five bloody seconds. Someone get Filch in here, would you?"

All at once, Sprout was telling him that Filch had taken the day off, McGonagall was yelling at him to watch his language in front of students, and Hermione was protesting loudly that according to _'Hogwarts: A History'_, chairs in the staff room were magically strengthened, and did not just _break_.

Snape sighed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Lunch time. Oh goody. 

Snape pulled his spoon out of a green sticky goop that looked poisonous and watched it drip back into the bowl. Pomona had told him the other day that it was called "Guacamole". Even the name sounded dangerous.

Why anyone would bother to make food that looked like it had already been digested and then go and name it "Guacamole" was beyond Snape's conception. He looked around him and saw a plate of crackers, a dish of chicken, and some slices of ham.

His nose scrunched up, like he smelled something foul, and his eyes wandered back to his own sickly dish of Guacamole. His stomach felt empty, but it was a pleasant kind of empty that he did not wish to disturb. Sighing, he dropped his spoon back into the bowl.

A few minutes later, that "pleasant" empty feeling had disappeared and given way to a rumbling stomach. Anxious to quell the sound, he grabbed a piece of chicken and stuffed it roughly into his mouth. He chewed, disgusted, and swallowed with a loud 'gulp'. All this in less than ten seconds.

It was times like these that realized whoever might be watching him would think that he was a dangerous, evil man who couldn't even enjoy his own lunch.

Well it wasn't his fault that Hogwarts chicken had chicken with high-fat content. He could practically feel the grease slide down his throat and settle in his stomach.

He looked longingly over at the bowl of lemon drops by McGonagall's seat.

Ever since _that_ night, when McGonagall had inherited the positon of Headmistress, the bowl of candies had been set there as a sort of 'ceremonial' dish. It had been there since then, but unlike the years when Dumbledore was around, the candy dish remained untouched.

And Snape was certainly not going to degrade himself by asking someone to "please pass the lemon drops." He grimaced, just thinking of how that would sound, coming from him. The other teachers would probably think he was making fun of it.

He would have levitated one over, but he had suspicions that that bowl was not a normal bowl. He sighed again, thoroughly disgruntled. Whoever knew how much trouble a piece of candy could cause?

Snape looked around him disinterestedly. He sat on the very end of the staff table, so there was no one to his right. And of course, they had placed Trelawney next to him, because she never dined with the Hogwarts' staff anyway.

Sprout had to sit on the other side of the table, in front of her own house, and he could tell that Flitwick, who was sitting a chair away from him, kept on giving him suspicious glances.

But it wasn't like he was _lonely_. He turned his attention to the table of Slytherin students, diminishing every day. He watched two boys stuffing themselves with food and shook his head. Not everyone played Quidditch, and those who didn't, didn't get nearly enough exercise. Hm. He should bring that up the next time he was filling out papers with Pomona.

His eyes strayed to Draco Malfoy, who was sitting at the farthest end of the table, closest to the staff, and away from everybody else. Snape almost smiled when he saw what the sullen seventh-year boy was doing. Yes, Malfoy was staring disgustedly at his food, spoon stirring uneaten bowl of Guacamole, and muttering about Hogwarts food and fat content.

* * *

'_Over. Just be over.'_ Snape thought desperately. 

It had been only fifteen minutes into lunch and he was already feeling a premature headache coming. Oh how he wished the day would soon be over. But then he remembered tonight's detention, and became suddenly grateful for the day's slowness.

Snape wanted very much to bang his head against the table. But, he realized, as most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts thought he was already insane, that he should pass up that idea.

He was not looking forward to detention. And why would he? Usually he enjoyed making students miserable, but this time he would be put with another teacher. He knew this, even though McGonagall had only mentioned his name in the staff room. He was not trusted around students alone, especially Gryffindor ones.

He knew he had been chosen because he was free that evening. Who was he kidding, he was free _every_ evening.

Pomona was busy, and McGonagall certainly wouldn't be there herself to look over the detention. It was common knowledge that Trelawney was too careless, and Montague was a Slytherin. And in Binns' condition, no way was he overseeing a detention. He'd probably be stuck with Flitwick or Vector again.

Here, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. Oh, of all people, why the nosy Granger? What inspired her sudden rebellion anyway?

He snorted, and saw through the corner of his eye that Flitwick jumped a little at the sound, his little hand tightening around his wand, which was drawn and lying on the table.

Rolling his eyes, he went back to wallowing in his thoughts. It was the last year, for goodness sakes! After this, they'd be thrust into the harsh world, fighting for their lives! Typical of her to be worried about the uniforms.

He had to admit, though, that the shocked look on McGonagall's face was priceless. This mental image kept him fairly amused throughout the lunch period, and he returned to the staff room, feeling marginally better.

He had just dipped his quill in the ink bottle to date forms, when the Staff Room door burst open. _Again._


	2. water and stone

_A/N: I loved writing this chapter! Its not much by itself, so I'll try to get the next couple chapters out sooner. Enjoy!_**  
**

**Water and Stone**

Grinding his teeth, Severus tried to surreptitiously rub the ink off the parchment with the sleeve of his robe.

The ink hadn't splattered too far, only across the top of a letter from the Board of Governors and a little bit on the desk.

He had started violently when the door had banged open, but it was due only very slightly to the amount of noise it created. What shocked him the most was the figure standing at the doorway.

At first, he didn't recognize the thing- er; _man_- that had pulled the two students into the Lounge, and now stood fuming before them.

But if you looked past the green slimy goop, singed teacher's robes that resembled nothing of its original state, and the boils all over the visible part of skin, you could just barely make out a very upset Montague.

* * *

Snape was sorely tempted, after he discovered the identity of this goop-covered monster, to stick out his tongue and laugh.

He remembered when Montague had been a student, very annoying and generally goofing around in class. He couldn't remember the number of times he had wanted to march _his_ students into the Lounge and assign them all detentions until Kingdom Come, but he'd given up after the first few weeks. The students just whined pathetically to their head of houses that he was a mean and unfair teacher.

Severus, for the life of him, couldn't figure out _why. _Marching around with evil-looking black robes and a scowl couldn't be _that _scary, could it? Ah, well. So after that, he had just stuck to torturing them during class.

In his opinion, that worked out wonderfully for everybody! He got to yell at them in class and watch them cower like a bunch of sissies, and they got to… er… they got to work on their character building. Yes, that was it.

He, Severus Snape, was laying the groundwork for a strong and stable framework for the lives of the impressionable young teenagers he was teaching by harassing and abusing them verbally.

Take _that_, wizarding social services.

Yes, Ministry of Magic, the reason your aurors have fast reflexes is because they've spent their Hogwarts years training in case I ever decided to carry out my death threats for not turning in homework. _Yes, _the reason they can see so well in the dark is because I forced them to read blackboards in near darkness. Of _course_ the reason Montague had matured into a fine teacher and doesn't whine anymore is because I-

"But _Minerva_" Montague whined.

Snape sighed. Another daydream dashed.

"You do _not_ call me Minerva, Montague," McGonagall was saying, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Or have you forgotten that I am still your superior?"

"No," Montague defended, "But I think you can excuse my slip-up in use of proper titles when you consider how shocked I am at these boys only getting _one day_ of detention after what they've-"

"I think _you _can excuse," McGonagall interrupted severely, "my slip-up in proper use of language when I say "bullocks!" considering my shock at you ever becoming a teacher!"

Montague gaped, and Snape raised an eyebrow.

Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom, whom Montague had shoved into the Lounge, had the nerve to snicker.

'_Bad move,'_ thought Snape.

And indeed, he was correct. Minerva McGonagall turned to send a withering glare at the two boys, shutting them up effectively.

"You two," she fumed, "had better be glad you're getting of with only one day's detention! If it weren't for the fact that your defense teacher _cannot_ for the life of him keep his own students under control," here she paused to glare at Montague, "then rest assured you would have been spending many more weeks in punishment."

She leaned back in her seat, and Snape noticed that she didn't look like she was going to say anymore, so he jumped at the chance to voice his own opinion. After all, torturing students was a rarity for him these days, as he wasn't really allowed near them.

"If I may interrupt, Minerva?" He called silkily from the other side of the room.

It seemed the occupants in the room had forgotten he was there; he could see McGonagall start, and Longbottom flinched visibly. Inwardly, Snape smirked. He still had it!

"Yes, Snape?" McGonagall asked in a slightly strained voice.

"Perhaps if young Mr. Malfoy told us _why_ he was provoked, we might find that his actions were not completely unjustifiable?"

"As wonderful as that may be, Severus," McGonagall told him dryly, "It wouldn't make a difference. _Both_ boys were found fighting each other just outside the Potions classroom. Montague here apparently got caught in crossfire. So unless you can think of a situation where they _both_ have a reason to try to kill each other, I'm afraid they will still need to be punished."

Snape was only stunned to silence for a few seconds before he gave a short nod and made a gesture with his hand as if telling her to proceed; then returned quickly to his work. On the outside, he was unconcerned and calm, but on the inside, he was wondering if the two professors were in their right minds.

Since when did a situation between Longbottom and Malfoy arise that could be called a "fight"? A fight implied that all parties were involved; and they were matched more or less evenly.

All prejudices and assumptions aside, there was no way that Longbottom would ever match Malfoy evenly in a duel. In fact, Snape hadn't _ever_ seen the boy fight before. He had heard, of course, about the incident at the Ministry, but the only thing Longbottom was rumored to have done was to fumble around clumsily and shoot a few disarming spells here and there. Hardly threatening.

Even worse was the look on Malfoy's face. It was not haughty, as it usually was when he was caught bullying a fellow student. There was only anger and stubbornness. Snape knew from experience that Malfoy absolutely _refused_ to lose to anyone, and if they put up a challenge, he wouldn't stop; he would win or die trying.

If Snape hadn't believed it before, he did now. There was no way Malfoy would stand there and not say anything to the accusations being made against him, unless it was more humiliating to admit what _really_ happened.

The thought of that was scary indeed.

So the boys stood there, arms crossed, not looking the least bit regretful for what they'd done. Of course, Snape hadn't expected any less from Malfoy, but it was a bit out of Longbottom's character to be so willfully defiant. It was like he had suddenly grown a backbone! He'd expected the boy to bend and wither under the headmistress' glare. After all, McGonagall _was_ the most intimidating professor in the castle. Besides himself, of course.

He watched as McGonagall handed Montague a piece of paper.

"Go to Madame Pomfrey." She told him. "And then get Binns to substitute for you, he doesn't have any classes this afternoon."

Montague snatched the piece of paper and sneered at her. "Binns? He doesn't know the first thing about Defense! The only way he'd ever defeat his enemies is probably by putting them all to sleep with one of his lectures. Or scaring them to death."

McGonagall gnashed her teeth.

"From your complaints, I've gathered that your seventh-year defense class is dangerous, mean, evil, and they fire spells at you every chance they get. Not that I question _why,_" She muttered, "but in the event they try to harm Binns, it won't work. He's already dead."

Montague looked like he was going to say more, but McGonagall stood up and pushed him and the two students out of the room.

"-A pay raise for this!" could be heard echoing in the halls.

"McGonagall slouched back in her chair.

"Never a decent Defense teacher," she muttered to herself. "And when we do get one, can't keep them for more than a year."

Snape coughed lightly, and Minerva's head jerked upwards. Why did people keep forgetting he was there? Was he that easy to forget?

"Yes, Severus?" She asked, a little twitchily.

He didn't blame her, after all, the door _was_ closed, and he could kill her instantly without anyone knowing. He sighed internally. Paranoid. Every single one of them.

"I couldn't help but overhear your little tirade about lack of Defense teachers?"

She did nothing but raise an eyebrow.

"Well, my résumé _is _still valid…"

Both her eyebrows shot up to her hairline this time.

"W-Well…" she stammered, "Your, ah… probation is over at the start of next year, so I suppose you could apply… if you're… interested."

Snape smirked. She knew damn well he was interested. He'd been after that post for more than fifteen years, and when he finally got it, it was snatched out of his hands like a lolly-pop snatched from the mouth of a babe.

"Yes," he said as dangerously quiet as he could. "Yes, I think I'll do that."

Minerva gulped and went back to scratching notes onto a piece of parchment.

Yes, he knew it wasn't good to poke fun at his prospective boss. But hey, it was justified! Snatched from the mouth of the babe, and all that. He _deserved_ his fun.

Looking down at his letter from the Board of Governors, he saw that the ink had dried and crusted. Cursing softly, he summoned a new piece of parchment and said a duplication spell.

He wrote down the date carefully, and began to put it on top of his 'done' list when a name caught his eye.

Pulling it back onto the table, he peered closer at the sheet.

…_has been submitted to the Wizengamot. While this is unquestionably a delicate issue between rights for boys and girls, it is also a question of tradition. The reason that the different uniforms were created is to create a little unity between student's house-mates. We regret to inform you that it is against the rules to violate the dress code. Please understand why we cannot let this pass. What will be next, Gryffindors being allowed to wear Ravenclaw badges? Slytherins playing on Hufflepuff Quidditch teams? However, as this case is being sent to the Wizengamot, we advise you to speak with them. There may be a chance you can turn the tables in your favor. Don't hold your breath, though._

_Sincerely,  
The Board of Governors._

And there, below it, were all thirteen signatures of all thirteen governors. He smirked delightedly. How fun it would be to drop subtle hints that he knew the way Granger's case was going when she came in for detention tonight.

He was just about to rub his hands together evilly when McGonagall's voice cut through.

"Oh, Severus, I forgot to mention, Malfoy and Longbottom will be serving in your detention tonight as well."

She must have seen the murderous look on his face, for she stopped gathering up her things to explain.

"No one else is free tonight, there's the Teacher's meeting. And you must know how Gillyworg gets when someone doesn't show up."

Severus tried very hard not to leap up and strangle the woman.

"I've been made to suffer two hours in the company of an insufferable know-it-all, and now this?" he asked.

"I will _not_ stand for you calling the students names!" McGonagall said, shocked. "Remember that you _chose_ to be here instead of the alternative, so you have only yourself to blame if you don't like what you have to do. And the detention's six hours, Severus, not two."

Snape's mouth fell open. Yes, he had chosen to be here instead of the alternative. But suddenly, Azkaban seemed like heaven. Two hours was the standard detention time, after all, students still had to do their homework after being punished.

"Six hours?" he asked her. "Why? When are they going to go to bed? Will I have to give up sleeping so these children can annoy me all night?

"No, Severus," Minerva said tiredly as she opened the door. "Afternoon classes end early. Teacher's meeting, remember? They'll report to the third room on the second floor at five 'o' clock, and stay there until eleven. We're sending the other children to Hogsmeade, so when the meeting is over, we'll bring them back, around ten. Just keep them from killing each other, all right? Now, I really have to go. Good bye."

She closed the door, and Severus was left by himself to contemplate his dreary fate that loomed before him. _'The question isn't wether they can keep from killing each other,'_ he thought miserably, _'its wether or not I can keep from killing them.'_

Groaning miserably, he took another sheet of paper from his inbox and stared at it for the longest time, before he grudgingly picked up his quill and went back to his job of dating the papers.

* * *

_A/N: The end!_


	3. darts

'Snap'

Severus cursed as the freshly sharpened quill tip broke off harshly. Scraping his chair back as loudly and angrily as he could, he stalked over to the other side of the room.

There was now only one other occupant in the room, Professor Binns. The ghost's head was very close to the desk, and he hadn't moved in over an hour; the perfect picture of absolute concentration.

Judging from the loud snores, Snape, however, strongly suspected the professor was sleeping.

He stuck the quill into the sharpener and sharpened it in an annoyingly slow and loud manner. Still no movement.

Grinding his teeth, Snape stomped back to his seat. He glared at the teacher before going back to dating parchments.

Professor Binns really was an inconvenience. He was a horrible conversationalist, and he didn't seem to much care that he was sitting with his eyes closed in the same room as an allegedly escaped convict. (Not that Binns was in any real danger, seeing as he was already dead…) He didn't seem to care that he had slept through his fifth hour class. He probably wasn't even the slightest bit concerned that sleeping with his back bent so much was hazardous to his health.

He heaved a great sigh. No, Binns didn't seem to care much about anything at all.

Severus drew his cloak tighter around him as he dipped the quill in ink for the second time. The room must have gone down about 20 degrees since Binns came into the room! Ghosts and their auras, you know.

He looked down at the form he was dating. It was nearing the end of January, and it had come time for the magical schools of Britain to submit their school status reports to the Board of Governors.

Because of an unlucky infestation of rats back in 1391 due to unthourough cleaning of the school, all schools were now required to have a ministry-approved scouring of the buildings to reduce the damage being done to the foundation and the magical fortification. If it was a small group of cockroaches, well, no one really paid any mind. But once you had rats, (genetically deformed and enhanced due to the strong exposure of magic) _then_ you had a problem.

'_Completion of dangerous pests check'_ the form said. Although Filch had submitted a completely clean scan before leaving on his vacation, Severus was sorely tempted to check the "no". As far as his knowledge went, there were _tons_ of pests running around the castle. 361, to be exact. Well, 368 if you counted staff members.

Severus stroked his chin as he debated what to do. Check no and incur the wrath of the Hogwarts officials? As hilarious as that would be, he decided it wasn't worth risking Azkaban.

He wasn't usually one for pouting, but just thinking of the limited freedom he had to endure sent his lips into a pout that would have made the most giggly-ish schoolgirls jealous. How much _more_? Exactly how much _more _of this was he to endure? He had the ministry's word if he completed this year of probation without incident, he wouldn't be sent to prison, but what then?

Severus was more than aware of his capabilities as a potioneer, and he supposed he could make a meager living working at a small apothecary or something. But the trouble was, he didn't _want_ to. Yes, he was crossing the line into the area of petulant childishness here, but really, it wasn't fair.

Years spent teaching the most annoying group of students, at a second-rate teaching job, along with playing double agent among the two most powerful wizards of the day had taken quite a toll on him. Then when he _finally_ got the post he wanted, Dumbledore was dead, and he was viciously taken away to trial.

Severus huffed at a hair that had fallen across his face and pouted some more. You couldn't blame the poor fellow. Pride was taught as a virtue in his lifetime, and watching teachers who didn't take their posts seriously (coughBINNScough) irritated him to no end.

Twirling the quill around in his hands, Severus drummed his fingers loudly on the table while turning to look at the clock. Hmm. Binns had now missed almost half of his class. (Rumor had it that Binns slept through his classes frequently, and by now, most of his students didn't even bother to show up.)

Binns continued dozing undisturbed until a bell was heard, signifying the end of the period. Waking up with seemingly no idea where he was and how he got there, Binns blinked rapidly while trying to gather his bearings. One hand was rubbing his face tiredly, as the other groped around for some scattered papers.

He floated up out of his chair, towards the side of the room where the teachers' schedules had been posted for the day. Totally unabashed that he had missed class, Binns just wiggled his fingers and 'Harry Potter' appeared under the "Detentions" list in scrawly handwriting.

Severus didn't even bother to ask Binns how he knew Potter had to be in detention if Binns wasn't present for his class anyway. It was a widely known fact that Harry Potter did not attend any of his classes, or Quidditch matches either. Strangely enough, he came to every single one of his detentions without fail. What _did_ surprise Severus, though, was that Potter's name had been transferred to a tiny paper tacked at the bottom corner of the wall. It belonged to him, and was usually empty, save a few occasional detentions he had to monitor.

"Wha-Binns!" Severus demanded, as the ghost was floating away towards the door.

"Yes, Sopkins?"

"Why have you transferred Potter to my list?!" (It was no use trying to correct Binns about his name; he was notorious for his forgetful memory.)

The ghost slowly turned around in midair.

"Due to the teacher's meeting this afternoon," Binns said in a hoarse voice, "I am unable to supervise any detentions tonight." He paused. "There is a teacher's meeting tonight, isn't there?"

Severus blew a sigh through his nose. "Yes, Binns, there is a teacher's meeting." He watched the ghostly professor float out the door and sighed. _Binns_ had been invited to the teacher's meeting? It didn't seem like Binns got around to a lot of teaching, but still… if even _he _was invited…

Severus slunk into a puddle of wallowing in self pity of which the likes had never been seen before.

This was insanely humiliating for him, not to mention degrading. Yes, he bet Minerva just _loved_ gloating over the fact that he wasn't fit to be a teacher. First it was the Quidditch teams, now the teaching position… Severus actually let out a low growl just thinking about it.

Just wait until he got his post back! Then he'd show her. Slytherin was _not_ a force to be reckoned with, especially not by measly little Gryffindors.

…That is, _if _he got his post back.

In the following few minutes of deep silence, Severus realized something. Being on probation was bad for his health. Not just physically, (his jaws were aching from not yelling in so long), but it was causing his mental health to become unstable too. He was having more and more mood swings, switching rapidly from one topic to the next. It was almost as if he couldn't concentrate on one thing for more than five minutes. Even worse than that was his outward appearance. (Not the hair; that was limp and greasy looking on principal.) He was sighing every which way now, even at the slightest disappointments. Oddly, some things, like guacamole, triggered a long and lasting philosophical debate within himself. If this wasn't a sign that a screw had fallen loose somewhere, he didn't know what was.

Wearily, he considered the little piece of paper tacked on the wall again. It consisted of his detention list and a tiny chart of his schedule. There were X's in all boxes except one, which was this period. That meant he was free to do what he liked. (That was loosely phrased, of course. If he was _really_ free to do whatever he liked…) Having nothing better to do, he decided to walk up and down the west corridors. That was generally inhabited by Hufflepuffs, but lately, due to his new afternoon hobby, the corridors were completely deserted. Oh sure, there was the occasional first-year that didn't know any better, but that was soon remedied. Upon catching sight of the intimidating professor, the first year would either faint promptly or run screaming in the opposite direction. That particular student would never be seen again. Pomona, of course, would take this all in good humor. After a particularly loud Hufflepuff first-year with an amazingly large lung capacity had run shrieking down the halls, Pomona had kindly asked him to either not look the unfortunate student directly in the face (It taxed their nerves, she had said, and they might run away a little more calmly if he was looking at the ceiling or something.) or to wear bright pink robes and a big smile, while carrying a stuffed badger. (Surprisingly, Severus picked the first choice.)

Of course he could have just gone one not listening to Pomona, but hey, why not? After all, even if he did tone down the intimidation factor, he would still scare them out of their wits. Besides, adolescents were like viruses. They had a way of adapting to things, and blocking them out. Of course, no student with a wish to live would declare that they were unafraid of Severus Snape. But over the course of the years, he had found that even the bright red color of Weasly's face when he was humiliated in class had gone down a notch. So, it was better to save his super-wicked glare for later, when his effectiveness at scaring students was questioned.

He was walking up and down said corridor when he overheard loud voices coming from nearby the Charms classroom. After closer investigation, Severus recognized Filch's deep voice.

He was apparently yelling about some dungbomb or the other. Severus wasn't interested in _what_ Filch was yelling at the students for, just envious at the fact that he was yelling at students at all. Resisting the urge to sigh, he turned and walked quickly back to the teacher's lounge. All this sitting around and marking papers all day was beginning to take a toll on him. He was feeling very ill towards Minerva, who had set him to this task. But, as per usual, he handled it in a graceful manner befitting a teacher of his high status. Yes, that's right. Severus Snape went back to the empty teacher's lounge, conjured up a picture of his enemy professor and some darts, tacked the picture to a wall, and threw the darts at it until that period was over.

So deeply was he concentrating on venting his anger, that he didn't even notice ink scrawling across his schedule in the form of two names. _'Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini- Dungbombs in corridor, assigned by Filch.'_

It looked like Severus's day had just gotten considerably worse.

* * *

_[A/N: Been sitting on my computer for a while. Enjoy! _


	4. banana splits

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! This was inspired by me being sick of trying to write college essays. grr.

dinner (4:30)

Snape pulled the steak-and-kidney pie towards himself and poked at it distractedly. Beneath him, the students were finishing their meals and excitedly discussing their plans in Hogsmeade for the evening.

He glanced out one of the Great Hall's tall, arched, windows. The grey clouds drifting towards them seemed to be suffocating the sun, allowing no rays of warmth to penetrate to the ground below. His eyes caught sight of the Whomping Willow, its silhouette clear and sharp against the grey backdrop. Its lack of care was obvious; it had grown twisted and bent.

He pulled his attention away from the tree and looked back at the house tables – Draco was sitting by himself again. Snape felt a little twinge inside him as he looked at the young boy. Would he grow up twisted and bent too?

"…Snape!"

He blinked and quickly looked to the left. The staff was staring at him.

"Er.. Could you please pass the steak-and-kidney pie, please?" McGonagall asked.

Snape passed it, not even bothering to make a snide comment. He was getting soft, he knew it. It was all this blasted free time! More and more often, he would be staring out windows, philosophizing and composing internal monologues… no matter. He would start his path to recovery with tonight's detention. They would all learn to fear Severus Snape again!

With renewed energy, he stood up to leave to his assigned room as the students and staff of Hogwarts filed out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Detention (5:01)

Had he expected anything else?

Detention had started one minute ago, and only Granger and Longbottom had shown up. Maybe he'd expected the Slytherins to at least show up. Maybe he'd expected the rumor that Potter regularly showed up to detentions to be true. Maybe he'd expected that Severus Snape's reputation would be enough to make them all show up for detention!

Snape's lower lip trembled violently, and he held in a sniff. This would never do. He obviously could never return to his "mean, robe-billowing, scariness". He'd just have to trade it in for another type of scary, that's all.

Hmm. Maybe a bitter, hollow, war-weary scary? Maybe he would look at them with hollow eyes, and speak in a soft, creepy voice? We-_ell_. His new persona sounded almost scarier than his old one! Just as he was about to fill in all the little mannerisms needed to make his new personality a success, the door opened, and McGonagall lead the rest of the students into the room.

They all looked sullen. Trying to sneak out to Hogsmeade, no doubt.

Without a word, McGonagall left, and Draco, Parkinson, Zabini, and Potter all took their seats, and Snape fixed them all with a hollow stare.

There was silence for a moment or two, then a cough – and some shuffling. Snape's eyes were starting to water. Well, this was awkward. What was he doing wrong?

And then, with a start, Snape realized. Good Merlin! He had almost forgotten how to run a detention! What was _wrong_ with him?!

His scraped his chair back and stood up.

"You two," he whispered creepily, barely moving his lips, "will clean the bedpans. Without magic. And you two will begin properly filing these papers. And you two," he hissed, leaning over his desk, "will scrub these desks clean. Do you understand?" He straightened up, keeping his face devoid of any emotion, but he felt that warm and tingly feeling on the inside. The students all looked as if they were hanging on to every word. And then he noticed Granger's hand being shakily raised.

"_What?"_ he snarled.

"I- I didn't quite hear you professor… d'you think you could repeat that?"

Snape blinked. Merlin. It seemed this whispering thing was harder than he had originally thought. No wonder they all looked as if they were hanging on to his every word. They could hardly hear him.

"Ahem. Er – You and Potter will clean the bedpans, Longbottom and Zabini will file papers, and Parkinson- you and Draco will scrub desks." He repeated, in a normal voice.

He slumped back down in his chair as the students got up and began to perform their various tasks. It was only three minutes later that he realized he had forgotten to repeat the bit about no magic being allowed, and only four minutes later; they were all sitting back at their seats. Well, pumpkin juice. What was he to do now?

Snape stood up. "I'm going to go to the loo," he announced, "and none of you are to move until I get back."

* * *

Zabini broke the silence.

"The _loo_?" he had asked. Pansy had snickered, Neville put his head down on his desk with shaking shoulders, and even Hermione had to bite her lip.

Then they were quiet again, all facing the front, but it seemed that a little bit of the tension in the room had gone.

* * *

"Got any fives?"

"Go fish."

Harry drew a card.

"How long do you think he's going to be gone?"

Neville shrugged.

Hemione looked to her right, and could see the Slytherins on the other side watching them with interest.

* * *

"I thought you said no magic allowed, Granger." Pansy said through clenched teeth, as she handed over a three.

"I'm not using magic," Hermione explained, "it's just that you asked Malfoy for a three, so I knew you must have had one as well."

Pansy cursed under her breath.

They were all sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor, with a pile of galleons in the middle. Zabini had made a withering retort about Muggle card games earlier, Neville had snidely issued a bet, and Draco had snapped back that they would accept. In retrospect, this was not a good idea.

As Neville happily scooped up the twelve galleons and divided it among Harry, Hermione, and himself, Draco glared.

"Again."

Five pairs of eyes looked at Draco Malfoy in surprise.

* * *

Snape wasn't in the loo. He was in the kitchens.

"More ice cream, sir?" A house elf squeaked at him.

Snape nodded, and handed his sundae bowl back the house elf, who filled it with another banana split.

"It's just," he hiccupped, "It's not my _fault_, y'know?"

The house elf nodded sympathetically as he polished the bar. He was used to this particular staff member stumbling into the kitchens in low spirits. The banana splits seemed to be good for him, the elf thought. Get four or five in him, and he seemed to forget his troubles for a little bit, and would wander out of the kitchens, slightly dazed, but slightly happier, as well.

Snape stared into his bowl, which was empty again, and sighed. The house elf took it from him, and pushed another split under his nose.

"This one's on the house."

* * *

They were back at their desks. Pansy softly patted Draco, who was slumped over his table.

"It was only thirty galleons," she said consolingly.

* * *

Snape walked in through the door. For a couple of seconds, the room swam in front of him – then his vision returned to normal. He returned to his chair and put his head on his desk. What a headache, he had _such_ a headache. He thought he maybe had a problem. He's seen those phamplets before. The ones that said stupid things like, "acceptance is the first step to recovery", and that what he had was a _disease_. He looked up. Why were their twelve children sitting in front of him? He blinked. Now there were six.

Oh yes, detention. He had forgotten about the children while gorging himself on the banana splits. And now his head was pounding. Oh, what was an ex-teacher to do?

"I want an essay." He mumbled. "By the end of detention. One foot of parchment. Saying why what you did was wrong. Go."

He put his head back down again, thought about the prospect of grading six essays with his massive headache, and jerked his head back up again.

"_One_ essay." He slurred, waving his finger around the room. He got back up. "I'm going to the loo."

* * *

After another awkward silence of watching Snape stalk out of the room again, Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her bag and began scratching away.

"What are you doing, Granger?" Pansy snapped.

"Writing the essay, what's it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"And who put you in charge of writing it?"

"I just thought-"

"What? You think that you're the smartest, is that it?" Pansy glared.

"Nobody _else_ looked as if they wanted to help, so…"

"You never _asked_, Granger. And it turns out I _do_ want input into that essay. After all, you're going to be writing about what I did wrong, right?"

Hermione rubbed her nose and pulled out another leaf of parchment.

"Fine," she said testily. "Let's all brainstorm. Why do you think what you did was wrong?"

"I don't think what I did was wrong." Zabini drawled.

"I don't think what I did was wrong either," Neville piped up.

"Me neither!" Draco snapped.

Hermione put down her quill.

"Look, we all have to write an essay about why what we did was wrong, so can we not make this any more difficult?"

"You can write about what why you think whatever _you_ did was wrong, Granger, but I don't think what I did was wrong."

"Hermione, what _did_ you do to get in detention? Neville asked.

"I wore pants." Hermione said proudly.

"What's so wrong with that?" Neville asked.

"Nothing!" Hermione snapped. "Why _shouldn't_ girls be allowed to wear pants? It's so _archaic_! And sexist! The only reason I'm in detention is because the Wizengamot is filled with a bunch of stuffy old codgers!"

"So what were you planning on writing for why what you did was wrong?" Pansy asked snidely.

Hermione chewed her lip. She didn't think what she did was wrong, but what could she do? It was not like her to not follow instructions for an assignment. So she shrugged, and answered Pansy.

"I guess I was just going to write that I shouldn't have been disrespectful of school traditions. It's not as if I have to mean it, it's just an assignment for detention."

"Wow," Draco snorted, "you had the balls to get put in detention, but you'll compromise your integrity for homework."

"Not everyone's as prideful as you are, Malfoy." Hermione snapped back. "Can you just bite back your ego enough so we can get this essay done?"

"What's really going to happen if you don't write that essay? Get another detention? Does that scare you? Fine. Write what you want. It's not my problem if you're chickenshit." Draco glared.

Hermione stared. "What is your-"

"You!" he snarled. "You think you're so high-minded, but you're not. When you break the rules, you're _defying tradition_, aren't you, you're doing it for the sake of _progress_, or _dignity_, or whatever the hell your reasons are. But when it comes between standing up for what you believe in and _homework_…" Draco shook his head and snorted. "I thought Gryffindors knew about bravery."

Hermione's mouth was open.

"I honestly believe it's my right to wear pants," she said, "and I honestly believe that I should pick my battles! I'm not willing to get detention for refusing to do an essay, because I _don't think it's worth it_." She glared. "I thought you Slytherins knew about cunning."

Draco didn't look at her.

"So do we want to do this essay or not?" Harry asked.

"We have to!" Hermione exclaimed, turning to look at him.

Harry shrugged.

"I don't think what I did was wrong, so I'm not going to help write it. I don't think you should get in trouble for what I think though, so you can go ahead and write the essay. I think whoever else wants to write the essay can help. I don't mind what you write about me." Harry added kindly. "And I guess whoever _does_ mind can help you with the essay."

Hermione bit her lip again. She didn't believe what she did was wrong. She understood why Harry didn't attend classes. She thought it was high time Neville stood up for himself. What would she write about them? She glared at the parchment. Hermione was idealistic, but she wasn't stupid. She wanted to do the essay because she didn't think one foot of parchment was worth getting in trouble over, not the way wearing pants was worth getting in trouble over. Was it the same thing, though? If she really wrote that what she did was wrong, would that make her whole crusade against sexism useless? Harry was watching her when she looked back up.

"I guess I'll be seeing you in tomorrow's detention." She said wryly, stuffing the parchment back into her bag.

Harry grinned at her.

* * *

A/N: Review please!


	5. the loo

A/N: substituting banana splits for alcohol. I _am_ terrible, aren't I. Sorry about the whole un-plotiness of the last chapter by the way. I just hate when stories move too fast. I think it works in movies when people start yelling, but it makes me feel really awkward to _write_ someone yelling without a really good reason. So for now, I guess you'll be seeing a lot of sneering and passive aggressiveness, or silly yelling. :P This was actually a harder chapter for me to write, because I don't really like OOC sappiness, and I'm afraid maybe I made some of the characters too nice. Oh, and if there are any lines you want me to use, or any situations you think would be funny to see, put it in a review and I'll see what I can do!

* * *

Snape really was in the loo this time.

He had held his head above a porcelain bowl for fifteen minutes, watching banana, vanilla ice cream, chocolate ice cream, and cherries splash into the toilet-water below him.

"_Get a grip",_ he told himself. He knew he shouldn't drown his sorrows in cheap dairy products, but over the years, he had developed a habit. The pamphlet had said that joining its group would be good, because then people like him would have a support group to talk to. Snape wiped his mouth with some toilet paper before flushing. Who did he have to talk to?

_He had Albus. Before. But…_

Hmm. Maybe it was the banana split talking, but Snape rather thought it was time to pay a visit to the headmistress' office and see about a certain portrait.

* * *

Back in detention, it was still quiet. Hermione's quite acceptance to not write the paper had slightly mollified Pansy, to whom Hermione was now quietly explaining the finer points of "Go Fish". It was Harry who finally broke the silence.

"Well," he said, getting up. "I'm thirsty. I'm going down to the kitchens, anyone want anything?"

He was met with silence.

"Harry…" Hermione said. "Snape said not to leave the room. And he's seemed a bit unstable lately, haven't you noticed?" She didn't add the _'just like you'_ that was on the tip of her tongue. "I don't think it would be the best idea to push his buttons right now."

Harry shrugged. The room remained silent, and then-

"Butterbeer, please." Pansy said.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Zabini interrupted:

"Two firewhiskys."

"Make that three!" Neville called out.

"Neville!" gasped Hermione, scandalized.

He grinned nervously at her.

"What, you don't like them?"

"I- well, it's…" she stopped, and sighed. She was a little thirsty too. "I'll just have some juice please."

* * *

"It's _important._"

"Ooh. _Important_ he says. Well, that's put _us_ in our place, hasn't it?"

Snape glared. "Listen, you think skulled excuse of a gargoyle, you'd better let me in right _now_ or I'll…I'l…"

The other gargoyle smirked.

"Or you'll _what_?" It asked snidely.

Snape cast his eyes over the office entrance for inspiration.

"Or I'll strangle you with that tartan scarf you're wear-" he stopped mid-sentence as the gargoyles sprung to the sides.

"Tartan?"

* * *

Harry walked back to the classroom, drinks in hand. He knew Hermione was worrying about him. He knew Ron was too, in Hogsmeade. He didn't mean to put them through this, he really didn't. Classes just seemed trite to him after Dumbledore had died. Had Transfiguration helped him on that balcony? Had Charms? No.

He went to detentions though. He thought he deserved to be punished.

* * *

Snape sat in front of the dozing portrait of Albus Dumbledore for precisely seven minutes before Albus blinked sleepily down at him.

"Severus!" He exclaimed happily. "How wonderful of you to visit."

"Hello, Albus."

Portrait-Dumbledore beamed.

"Your probation ends in one year, does it not? Are you planning to apply for a teaching position then?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts." Snape said curtly. "Probably won't get it though." And he stared at the floor. A couple of seconds went by before Dumbledore replied.

"My dear boy," he said, and the heaviness in his tone made Snape look up, "you have been so very patient with me. Have I thanked you yet?"

"Yes," answered Snape, feeling horrible now.

"Not enough times, I think. You were never one to wallow, Severus," Dumbledore's portrait told him. "Please don't start on my account."

"Have I thanked _you _yet?" Snape whispered. "I never did, did I? Well, thank you. For…giving me a future, I suppose. For believing in me when even I didn't. For-"

"My dear boy," Dumbledore said, now beaming with pride, "You don't have to thank me. I see your gratitude every time I look at this school. Every time I look at a student. Every time I see the new first-years come to this institution without having to worry about whether their lives are in danger or not. I see your gratitude in the families that were spared, the lives that were _not_ lost, and I see it in your eyes today." Dumbledore smiled. "You don't have to thank me."

This time, the blurry room in front of Snape had nothing to do with banana splits.

* * *

Draco sipped on his firewhisky.

He didn't like Neville. He didn't like him when he made a mess of his cauldron in potions, when he cowered in front of every insult thrown at him. He absolutely _hated _him back in fourth year in Moody's class, when he saw the expression on Neville's face. He had _loathed_ him when he saw him come out of a room in St. Mungo's with his grandmother. He had been absolutely _livid_ after he had realized who was in that room.

He thought maybe he hated Neville a little bit less after yesterday's fight.

Because when it was _his _family that was threatened, _his _parents tortured, he didn't do anything either. But after yesterday's fight, he thought that maybe he didn't mind being a bit like Neville Longbottom. Maybe.

"Longbottom," he called, and was pleased to see him flinch. "You finished with that firewhisky?"

And would you know it, Draco Malfoy almost smiled when Neville told him in his quite little voice, "finished like I finished you", and gave him the bottle.

* * *

When you spend most of your time lying to the most powerful dark lord the world had seen in centuries, you tend to get quite good at noticing when other people lie. So even though his mind was elsewhere on his way back to detention, Severus Snape was a little bit suspicious that when he opened the door, the students seemed oddly stiff, all facing forward, and not moving. There was a chair tipped over as well.

He walked carefully down the aisle, looking at each student in turn. Why was Longbottom looking so nervous? Well, yeah. But why was _Zabini_ looking nervous as well? Actually, Zabini looked like he was _hiding_ something. Snape walked closer. "Mr. Zabini-

"Hey sir!"

It was Potter. Snape wasn't sure how to act around the boy. He could hardly be mean, right? But he could hardly be _nice._ So he settled for just a glare at the present and waited for the boy to finish his sentence.

"We- Well, _I_, at least, need to go to the bathroom. Now."

So _that_ was the reason for the sweat and the slightly nervous look on the students faces.

"Five minutes," He thundered imperiously. No one moved. "Well?"

"Er…now?"

Snape cast his eyes to the heavens. For such a know-it-all, Granger could really be thick sometimes.

"Yes, Granger-"

But sometime between Granger's question and his answer, the students had left the room.

* * *

"Wow," Hermione giggled as she threw her juice box into the trash can. "That was close. I wonder what would have happened if he had seen us get up with firewhiskey in our hands."

"Being bad feels pretty good, huh?" Pansy asked, entering a stall.

Hermione ignored this comment. She felt a little peculiar as she checked her hair in the mirror. She didn't like Pansy, but really had no reason to hate her. She didn't feel so deeply, not like Harry did. Harry felt so deeply, to both extremes, that sometimes he scared her, and she was glad she didn't wasn't him. She hated the fact that most students in Slytherin house had parents who supported a man who had murdered her best friend's parents. But she couldn't bring herself to hate the students directly. She remembered an article where Pansy had called her ugly, but that was two years ago. Pansy wasn't a death eater, as far as she knew. Pansy had never called her a mudblood, as far as she knew. But for some reason, she felt inclined to behave towards Pansy as if she had done both those things. The girl being in Slytherin, she held no illusions about what her biases were, but she thought all the same, she should giver her a chance.

She rolled her eyes as she heard a flush. She doubted if Pansy even wanted a chance to be friends with her.

* * *

Hermione was checking her hair in the mirror while Pansy washed her hands, and then held the door open while Pansy threw away the paper towel. Halfway down the hall, Pansy realized that Hermione had waited for her, and didn't like it.

It's not that she hated Granger. She found her a little annoying, a little too bossy, and wished she would take the time to properly groom her hair, but it wasn't as if she _hated_ the girl. Pansy actually didn't hate anybody, and sometimes it scared her to be around Draco, because Draco could really_ hate_. And she was kind of glad that she didn't have to go through whatever he had to go through. Pansy just thought she was better than Hermione. And now that she thought about it, it wasn't to do with blood, really, because Millicent was pureblood and Pansy thought she was better than Millicent too. Granger had never insulted her about her grades. She was pretty sure Granger didn't want her dead. But for some reason, she felt inclined to behave towards Hermione as if she did. The girl being in Gryffindor, she held no illusions about what her biases were, but all the same, maybe she shouldn't feel so weird about just talking with her best friend's father's boss' arch-enemy's best friend.

She rolled her eyes as they returned to detention. She doubted if Hermione even wanted to talk to her.

* * *

The boys went to the bathroom and then came out when they were done. No one waited for anybody. No one checked their hair. Not even Draco. And no one held the door for anyone else, or waited for anyone else to be done before walking back to detention.

What?

They weren't _girls_.

* * *

A/N: Again, no real plot. Sorry :P I liked writing about the characters, especially Hermione and Pansy, because I've always felt like there's no real enemity between them. I feel like if they had to sit in a compartment together, they'd just ignore each other. They very likely wouldn't be friends, but they I think that they don't hate each other enough that they might think about it, and then dismiss the idea very quickly, for probably no real reason.


End file.
